


Idealism of Despair

by FastAndAdrift



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deepest desire wish comes true, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Human!Rocket Racoon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Improvised One Shot, M/M, Multi, Other, Polymorph Spell, Rocket Racoon just wants to be loved, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29194176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FastAndAdrift/pseuds/FastAndAdrift
Summary: Rocket considers himself somewhat rational. Enough so that when he has a gig to deliver a magic artifact to a buyer, he totally doesn't touch it and wish for the pain to stop. And that wish doesn't come true. And he doesn't entirely wake up without fur, paws, or even a snout. (How in the fuck his eyes are blue now?)Usually, he'd be rational, maybe he drank too much. Maybe someone spiked his drink for the second time in this lifetime, or is it the experiments all over again?  Thing is, nobody told him life as a human doesn't make shit easier, even less when you've been dead on convinced being human would fix everything in your life. Nuh-uh.Maybe there's a meaning to all of this? It has to... Right?
Relationships: ? - Relationship
Kudos: 2





	Idealism of Despair

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are right! I did this instead of sleeping. I watched a compilation of funny marvel moments and found myself cheering for our loveable bastard and honestly I couldn't get rid of this idea and concept. Because I've been legit brewing this kind of idea over the Teenage Mutant Turtle Ninja since that first Megan fox movie came out in 2014. So this is me putting it to good use in somewhat of a One-Shot. If that ends up interesting people I might be inclined to continue it on a regular schedule but damn. I have no idea if someone will be interested in this plot that came out in one evening. Nevertheless, Have a nice day, and let me know with sum kudos or comments if you think this deserves a following-up chapter.
> 
> PS: This not beta'd and French is my native language. Also, I don't think it's too OOC but hell, It might be. So go ahead with a grain of salt.

There’s this unexplained tinge of sadness that has followed him throughout his entire existence.

When he quit it all, he didn’t expect for life to become so lonely. Running away from a job and his native planet was already huge as it is. At first, it felt like freedom to go wherever he wanted. To not have people rely on him, look back and search clues on his face as to what to do with themselves. He wouldn’t get that kind of authority anymore. That satisfied him just right. It pleased every inch of his being. Shit was just not his problem anymore.

He could channel all of this angst into jobs. Shake those memories off, maybe even get to forget about it all. He found himself to be better at it than he expected. He may have had an important job once, but now he had only himself to care for. He had a fairly straightforward job. And somehow taking care of himself ended up being something really hard to learn. Things like licking yourself or cleaning wounds were pretty self-explanatory. 

But what about when you need a hand to lift you up? 

When you need someone to hold when you cry. Or just to laugh with? He’d had long enough of watching bystanders to see it’s real. It’s not the big fairy tale he’s been told about for so long. And the only reason he doesn’t get in on the action is because he’s not ready to try. Or at least, he’d like to think so. As if he needed more than bars or banter to someone tied up in his ship. 

It wasn’t right to give up. So he didn’t, instead, he indulged in his favorite friend. It got him hammered enough to sleep at night. Nothing but a few nightcaps, as they called it on death star.

He’s had friends, temporary ones. They all had some kind of dumb nicknames and they seemed to be soldiers of a war he didn’t understand. They didn’t seem to get it either. After all of this time spent on his own. He really wondered, up to a point if he was worthy to be cared for. When there are whole galaxies full of people, and then there he is just freaking lonely. 

He had no right to say no one would fit right in with him. That wouldn’t be true, he was smart enough to realize that. Granted that it stung even deeper to remind himself that his people were long gone already. Since he saw that explosion in his ship’s cam feed, he hasn’t looked back ever since. And on his worst days, he looks at it again. Feeling like the worst kind of a fucked up villain. He really wouldn’t believe in much. Nothing did more than money, money got you places, gave you stuff, and if you could afford to have enough to build up your name. People would eventually endure you. He really had no hope for any belonging anymore.

That until he met Groot. They were inseparable then. It’s like someone put glue and it stuck so much he would start to worry if he hadn’t seen the tree in too long. He can’t lie there, he really gripped hard onto that friendship in the hopes it would remain there. That he wouldn’t end up blowing that up too. He didn’t expect the bond but welcomed it slowly in comfortable silence. 

He didn’t really expect the guardians to be in that lane. But he couldn’t deny it. He really couldn’t deny that sharing a beer with Drax, cleaning weapons with Gamora, or even sharing banter with Peter made his heart more whole. He really isn’t into the big idea of family. Maybe because he really has no idea what it means. Equals used to feel like a distant dream. It’s slowly becoming more of an occasional partner in his life.

His old family wasn’t quite something he has fond memories of. Falling on this team of fuck ups does have its perks. He doesn’t have to hold in his breath as he fights, hoping that there’s not a smart idiot who manages to find his blind spots. No, it wouldn’t be an occurrence anymore, since he had back up. His back was covered. And the usual spill of it all was quite..fun? He wasn’t sure what to think of it. He knows he’s different, he’s not..them shaped. 

And when shit goes to the roof, he sometimes has to fight to be taken seriously. When that shit happens, he really does consider going full feral. But there’s the rationality that kicks in and he knows it wouldn’t be for the best. 

It’s challenging to have a family, he’s not fucking blind you see?

He is fully aware they’re all misfits, as dysfunctional as they come. But he’s willing to open his paw, and to honestly give it a try. Because there’s so much that has happened. And there’s a lot he can’t just sweep under the rug by now. And he wouldn’t share it with anyone, but these rare times that Gamora finds herself sporting a warm smile of hers, he knows he’s in for a good treat as she pets his head in such a soft and endearing way. And there’s something so soothing in listening to good music whilst building his heart out. Knowing sometimes treats or water would find itself a spot in his near area. Without an exchange of words, of a brief one if he had any choice in what’s to be eaten. He really, really gets to see himself stay. And the thought of it is terrifying. He has no idea when that idea crept up and how he hasn’t noticed how at ease he is now. His fur is growing back in spots he thought were impossible. He finds his nose to be moister instead of the dry pancake he’s usually sporting. He really feels like he’s letting his barrier down and that he’s slacking. That at every turn, he’s going to have to fight for it.

And that one day, he won’t be able to fight anymore. There’s something genuinely shit into the mindset of realizing he cares. Yondu was right. He just wished he hadn’t been such breaking news to hear. Because he always had pride in being able to be self-aware. He’s short, cunning and he rarely takes no for an answer. But somehow, no, it doesn't feel so big anymore. He gets more easy-going, getting to know the team makes him know that no matter how they might insult him. They never truly think it, and he had made sure of that.

They just really seem to get hot-tempered and say shit like they mean it. And he totally understands that mentality. Parts of him he’s never seen show up slowly. He feels like it’s wiping clean a slate that was never made for this. It’s hard to fight the urge to run on the days where getting drunk isn’t enough. He’s not ready, even open and listening. He finds himself barely sharing anything. And honestly, he thinks it’s right. Because if they knew, if they really knew.

They’d compare him to Ronan, to Thanos. To the little monster, he has grown to hate for so long. And he can’t bear the thought of seeing each one and every one of them getting to know him that way. It’s one thing to overshare, another to make people you care about start hating your guts. 

.

.

  
  


He doesn’t really know why it got him to go on an adventure of his own. 

They usually go fuel up and get a few days of rest after a mission to an Inn, one that usually doesn’t cost too much and gets them underground enough that the Benatar doesn’t shine so much that it’s spotted from afar. And honestly he wants to make up for the fact he hasn’t been pulling his weight lately. If anything he’s been drunk half the time. And that was being nice. 

He maybe can guess that being so close to the grave of Half-World is taking a toll on his nerves. He does take the blame for it all. He really is screwing up. He has no idea how to bring himself back up. And honestly, a little time on his own is to be needed. He’s changing, he has no idea how to deal with that. He would want to welcome it all, but he knows some part of him shouldn’t change like this. He’s not domesticated, not ever. He really doesn’t know how to fix it. And the stare from Peter at his decision to go do a job on his own really got him to think about his infliction about it all. They know he has this raging need to steal things, to borrow and use but never put them back. To tinker to early or late hours, and to generally get drugs and get mouthy rather often. And as self-aware he manages to be, he knows that is problematic. It’s part of him, and there’s a rebel flame that is proud of that chaos. But he genuinely doesn’t wish his actions on the people he cares about. He’s been too mouthy on Draxx lately and he really doesn’t fit in well with Gamora’s personnel style of everything has a special place. If anything he really feels like the odd man’s out. Gamora and Peter taking up the same bed, being all honeymoon phase have got him on edge. They even finish each other’s sentences and back each other up when the need is felt. And that strikes hard in his heart because that resemblance of equality is imbalanced. And he has no idea what to do with that either. It just makes him think about how he’ll never find love again. How he’s not really dating material either way. If his appearance hasn’t clued everyone in again. If he can’t be a good family member, one that can help and be relied on, how can he be a lover? He ran away from responsibility then, and so does he now. And it’s not his sniffing nose and blurry eyes that manage to clue that in. It does make the Pod ship harder to manage, but he still does. Because this is something he’s actually good at. And that’s not going to change right? 

  
  
  


The job’s easier than he thought. He has to bring an artifact from point a to point b. Lots of lore follow that shiny thing. The seller even flinched when Rocket laughed about it. 

Thing is, he finds himself watching it shine on the ship’s roof as he tries to sleep in. It’s a loud orange, triangle-shaped and it’s almost lava-like. Under a thin membrane of what looks like glass. He has a chest with papers to bring it with. And honestly he couldn’t resist reading it to laugh at how fucking dumb it is. He can’t sleep and this is a tale before bed like any other. Who really believes in fairy tales? No one can accurately wish something and get it out of thin air. He cannot help but want to criticise it any chance he gets. And anyone who doesn’t know that already believes in way too much bullshit. But..perhaps that’s why he doesn’t sleep at night. Because he’s unable to believe those stupid lies. He can’t dream, he can’t be relied on ever again. He never was. Or at least it’s satisfying to believe, it’s easier to believe than the artifact laying on his paw. It’s really beautiful to look at, it would make a perfect lamp. Yeah, he really thinks this is bullshit. Yet he can’t help the lingering whisper he withdraws under his breath. It even fogs up the side of the glass. And he uses his clenched paw to wipe it off. The sigh that follows is clueless and dissatisfied. He can’t wait to go back with the others, even if the thought of leaving and never coming back crossed his mind many times since he left. 

  
  
  
  


.

.

  
  
  


It really didn’t take him long to notice it was off. Just in the way, his whole body ached as if he just ran a marathon. The way his chest seemed to weigh as much as his legs did. And the fact he was cold, he really got to feel the fact his covers were not enough. Did he kick it in his sleep? All he can feel is the rough of something digging into his back. And how cold the ship is against his legs. He feels naked, nausea bubbles up pretty quickly when he realizes the alcohol he had earlier is catching up. He barely gets to roll on his side not to choke before it all comes out rather quickly. He finds himself dry heaving rather quickly, eyes tightly shut. He gets even more self-conscious as the seconds grow longer. Why does his tail feel so numb? Why can’t he feel the air against his whiskers? He gets flashes of beige as he tries to breathe evenly. 

He opened his eyes and felt any breath he had managed to get a break-in. He coughs as he feels the information of colors clock in. All of these times spent trying to argue colors with Peter..it all seemed to make sense. The inside of the Benatar’s pod was really navy grey and not just..grey. He really gets distracted at how crispy space looks from the ship’s main window is. And somehow it really kicks into high gear the fact he hadn’t got the chance to see this before. Is he on drugs? Did the stupid artifact make things look prettier? Everything is just..so different.

He then looks down at his vomit, the odor isn’t as foul as he expected it to be, it does make him curl up his snout in disgust but the action isn’t quite as satisfying as usual. He even gets self-aware that he doesn’t see dark in between his eyes, but a lighter tone. He barely gets a grip on that he genuinely gets a sight of his hand laying on the cold floor. 

‘’ **Oh shit.** ’’ He swears within a dark whisper, both terrified and intrigued. He moves his dirty fingers around, wiggling them in awe and a strange sense of self. 

‘ **’This...What the fuck is this shit.** ’’ He adds softly, not believing in what he sees.

As thoughts get somewhat clearer, he gets to look down at himself. He cannot escape the ugly gasp that comes out. The lack of fur and dark tones is horrifying. And the fact it’s almost all fur-less leaves him feeling dizzy. He can see clearly the scars, the ones the fur usually covers up. They always had to be covered, he hasn’t seen them so clearly in ages and it would make him empty himself on the floor all over again if he wasn’t already empty. He can feel the cold bite of the metal close to his collarbones. Something he barely wants to acknowledge in this wild morning.

He does happen to lift himself slowly up. Building the fact his muscle feels weak even by how large they now are. He feels all the blood escaping him when he gets to see his groin and the fact he can’t escape this twisted reality. The fact the Pod feels tighter becomes more obvious to him. Something that had been alien to him yesterday to even think about. He wondered if he was even able to get up.

He tried, not without some nausea and dizziness at the movement of it all. The weight of his legs really made him wonder how come others ran at all. And how he already missed the ratio he usually had, one that would make him run wild on all fours. He can already feel chunky and too thick to bend in the same ways. Or at least it feels like it. He barely manages to shuffle to a drawer to find an old pair of jeans Peter loved. He only knows why it’s there because he stole it. He even got the accusations that came with it, even if Peter had no proof it was him, only clues.

He manages to shuffle in them, and it hides at least half of his skin. He makes a few silent and careful steps towards the main part of the pod to get the thermostat higher. Closing his arms together and feeling his whole body acclimate to the height and temperature of the ship. He found himself bringing his now human hands towards the heat waves that were emitting from the ship’s motor. He found himself chuckling like a maniac at the realization he was alone and..human. Even if this all felt very real and disarming, he had no idea if it wasn’t still a very vivid dream. 

He still feels somewhat alienated from his own body, but at least he has enough human watching for him to get bearings on how to move properly without hitting himself. And even if he wasn’t human before, he did have at least four limbs he recognized. He can’t get over how long his fingers are and how strangely weak his nose is. But he really doesn’t get a choice on how to figure it out without trying. So he tries and is grateful no one’s there to watch him fall and lack the depth of field to hit the right buttons. 

It is frustrating, but he finds himself smiling at the tiniest of victories. He found himself admiring space from the main seat of the pilot for way too long. Admiring how he could see the ships passing by becomes thinner and tiny as they grew away in distance. And also secretly not hating the fact he wasn’t too tiny for the seat anymore.


End file.
